


Night Terrors

by Severina



Category: True Blood
Genre: Community: prompt_in_a_box, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric doesn't ask what haunts her this time, but he has heard them all in the last few weeks – the circle of fire encroaching ever closer as she screams; the thud of steel-toed boots cracking her ribs; the sudden blast of cold air on her skin as a beefy hand rips at her dress; the feeble pounding of her hand against a bare back as she's drained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Terrors

**Author's Note:**

> Post Marnie's death in S4. Everything after that never happened. Written for LJ's prompt_in_a_box community for the prompt "you should leave"
> 
> * * *

Sookie falls asleep with her head pillowed on his arm and the sweat still drying on her skin.

Eric stares at the newly plastered bedroom ceiling; idly watches the twirl of the fan's blades. There is much he should be doing – he had set up his desk in the chamber that used to be her bedroom and brought the ledgers from Fangtasia for this very purpose – yet he is loathe to move. Loathe to disturb her fragile sleep, he tells himself, capably avoiding the truth that it is for completely selfish reasons that he does not want to leave her side. He is as drawn to her now as he was in the days when he had no sense of self; perhaps even more so, because now he remembers the things he's done and can marvel that she loves him still.

When her breathing deepens he reluctantly draws away from her warmth, slings a dressing gown over his shoulders and pads silently to his makeshift office. It is there that he first feels her unease, a slithering along their bond that escalates quickly into panic. He is at her side in the space of one human heartbeat, to find the sheets tangled around her legs as she fights to free herself of the covers, her eyes darting beneath closed lids.

He lays a hand on her forehead, breathes her name and she comes awake with a start, eyes wide and unseeing. A flailing hand fastens onto his arm and her blunt nails dig into his skin. For another moment her terror surges through the bond and he can practically taste the rapid beat of her heart on his tongue, and then her eyes focus and she slumps back against the pillow.

"Just a dream?"

"A dream," he assures her.

Not uncommon, but the first she's had when he wasn't there beside her to ease her from it before it could dig its claws into her. Eric doesn't ask what haunts her this time, but he has heard them all in the last few weeks – the circle of fire encroaching ever closer as she screams; the thud of steel-toed boots cracking her ribs; the sudden blast of cold air on her skin as a beefy hand rips at her dress; the feeble pounding of her hand against a bare back as she's drained. 

He feels his jaw clench and forces himself to relax. His anger filtered through their bond will do her no good. He busies himself with straightening the sheets and then sits beside her. Her eyelids are already fluttering, sleep trying to claim her once more. He sits beside her and traces the line of her brow, the shell of her ear. Watches as each muscle slowly unwinds itself and sinks back into the mattress.

"I'm here," he tells her. "You're safe."

It's only when Sookie's breathing evens out again that he carefully rises and heads to the front of the house. The door opens soundlessly; the floorboards still hold some of the days heat, soaking in the soles of his bare feet. The cicadas sing and a small animal rustles in the bushes along the railing and Bill Compton stands silently at the base of the porch. 

"She's fine," he says.

"I could feel her fear," Bill says. Needlessly. He can and will, always, though the link will fade and become inconsequential with time provided the blood exchange between them is not renewed. And it will _not_ be renewed.

He owes the other vampire nothing, but when Bill's pained gaze drifts to the second story window he thinks of Sookie. Who despite everything still holds a sliver of love for Bill Compton in her heart. He can bend ever so slightly for her. "A nightmare," he says.

Bill nods, his eyes still glued to the window. "I'm not surprised," he answers. "She's been through so much."

_Because of you_ , Eric thinks. He swallows back the words along with the image of ripping one of the banisters from its mooring and planting it in Bill's heart. He has pushed back such baser impulses before, when one of Sookie's night terrors woke her – when she moaned with the memory of writhing in the dirt and hearing her ribs crack – and she confessed that she didn't know how she could still feel anything for Compton after the things he'd done. He'd wanted to fly across the cemetery then, end the vampire once and for all, and had clenched his fists and made himself still. Political ramifications play a part, but there are always ways to keep himself safe. It is Sookie's feelings that primarily stay his hand. And it is for those feelings that he had held his tongue as he does his hand, pulled her into his lap and kissed her eyelids, her cheek, her lips. Held her in his arms and shown her that he would never, ever hurt her.

"She'll be fine," he says now.

"Will she?" Bill scoffs. 

Eric straightens at the slight. "I _will_ protect her," he says. "I will keep her safe."

"You may be able to protect her, but you can't take care of her," Bill bites out. His lip curls when he drags his gaze away from the window. "You're not what she needs."

Eric inclines his head. It's not like the thought has never occurred to him. Sookie is wild, after all, and impulsive, and makes decisions with her heart instead of her head. But isn't that why it is _him_ that is here with her now? 

"I am what she _wants_ ," he says, and sees the words cut.

The breeze lifts his hair, flaps at the loose folds of his robe. He's stood outside in the darkness long enough, when inside there is warmth and light.

"You should leave," he says, and cannot resist adding a sardonic bow. "My liege."

* * *

The ledgers can wait. He takes the stairs at full speed, pulls back the sheets and crawls in beside his lover.

"Eric?" she mumbles.

"I'm here," he says. She cuddles into him beneath the covers, sleep-warm and soft. A lock of hair tumbles across her cheek and he lifts a finger to brush it back, feels her lips curve against his chest. Whatever dreams he awoke her from with his return, they must have been happy ones.

He wraps his arm around her and presses his lips to her brow. The steady thrum of their bond is a counterpoint to the beat of her heart. He breathes it in with the scents of their bodies, sweet milk and honey and ice and the north wind. It makes him hot, makes him hard, and he wants to roll her over and take her again and knows he will not no matter how much his body sings for it, not even if she lays sleeping until the first rays of dawn broach the horizon and he has to retreat to the cubby without touching her again, without seeing her smile, without watching her lips part and gasp his name when he makes her come with his fingers and his tongue and his cock.

"Don't leave me," she murmurs just before sleep retakes her.

He tightens his grip. Witches, demons, weres, hunters. 'King' Bill. Nothing will take her from him. 

"Never," he says.


End file.
